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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216198">Epilogue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperSomerset/pseuds/PepperSomerset'>PepperSomerset</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jam - Yahtzee Croshaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Ending, Bonding, I just want them to be friends, M/M, Mostly Fluff, don being don, i gave travis the last name Shepherd on purpose, questionable knowledge of computers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:55:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216198</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperSomerset/pseuds/PepperSomerset</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The journey is done. The question is, what now?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Why did I do this? Bruh I couldn't even tell you. I started shipping them as a joke now I'm stuck on repeat years later.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hours after being rescued, Don had already showered and been shown to a room while Travis went to look for a suitable box to put Mary in. She had, thankfully, begun to recover and seemed to be just sulking now. He'd left her in the room he was to share with Don until they could get to the States, tucked safely on the desk behind a lip that would ensure she didn't slide onto the floor. That accomplished, he'd left to find the showers, a motherly (but very stern) woman had showed him and he'd run nearly headlong into Don who was leaving, wearing navy issued sweats and patting at his still wet hair with the towel around his neck. The older man takes one look at Travis and snorts, taking in his unchanged appearance.</p><p> </p><p>“I had to find a box for Mary,” he explains, shuffling his feet nervously and bidding a silent farewell to the officer.</p><p> </p><p>When she's finally out of earshot, Don leans in close and Travis feels the hair on his arms stand on end, “I want you to be careful, Travis. Lock the door after you. I have them eating out of the palm of my hand for now, but there's a whole ship of people here that could potentially turn against us... They've got naval training as well.” He claps his large palm over Travis's shoulder, leveling him with a meaningful look.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I... Ok,” he doesn't argue, trusting Don to make the right decisions. “I'll hurry...” And he disappears into the bathroom, clutching the bag of clothing and toiletries close to his chest.</p><p>It was only normal that Don was cautious, especially with how things had fared dealing with the military before. Travis didn't really expect much more trouble, not now that the cat was out of the bag. <em>Count on Don to take every precaution</em>, he thought, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Once on the other side of the door, he locks it and slides down a little, putting his weight on it and sighing shakily. The next half an hour is a blur, his body operating on autopilot as he showers, shaves, and brushes his teeth. Looking at himself in the mirror, wearing nothing but a towel draped around his waist, he realizes he's lost a bit of weight. He isn't skinny, but the slight pudge around his stomach and hips had shrunk to be easily overlooked. There were dark circles under his eyes and the blue itself seemed to have... faded? Travis doesn't like what he sees and looks away, choosing instead to slip on a set of sweatpants almost too luxurious to be real. In reality it was probably because he'd been wearing plastic for the last week and a half, but he wasn't going to question it. After that comes a short sleeved shirt a size too small and a hoodie that was a few sizes too big. He wonders if they were just running low on spare clothing or they had misjudged his size that badly. The sweats, at least, seemed to fit even if they were a little long on him.</p><p> </p><p>Once he's dressed, he gives himself another once over in the mirror and grabs a small hairbrush from the bag next to the sink, now nearly empty. With his hair brushed free of tangles he finally feels a little more human and a little less like a swampy bag creature.</p><p> </p><p>The walk back to their room is a short one now that he's a little more alert and he finds himself humming softly to fill the silent corridor. The ship was so huge he wondered if people that worked on the lower decks ever went a day without seeing someone. At the room, he knocked once to be polite before giving it a moment and entering.</p><p> </p><p>Don was sitting at the little desk in the corner, a cell phone in one hand and a pen in the other, scribbling away on a sheet of notebook paper. There was also a small laptop sitting in the corner with several tabs and conversations opened. Travis recognizes a few names, mostly big time media outlets, among the windows of streaming green and white code. Hadn't he said he didn't understand code? Don must have found some way to salvage his build, Travis thought, wondering what exactly those windows were doing. The other man could have very well been hacking the thing and he wouldn't be able to tell- knowing Don, it was probably important and would take too long too explain so he doesn't ask. He only moves into the room silently, shutting the door gently and taking a spot on the undisturbed bunk. Aside from a cup of what he assumed was coffee, it didn't look like Don had eaten yet. Travis's brow furrows and he makes a thoughtful sort of noise, catching Don's attention even through all the threatening he was doing over the phone. Tired green eyes meet his and he points to his stomach, then to Don's and shrugs. Don rolls his eyes and gives a little 'shoo' gesture by flicking his wrist.</p><p> </p><p><em>I'm not hungry</em>, it said.</p><p> </p><p>Travis scoots closer to the edge of the bed and fixes his fellow survivor with an almost patronizing look. <em>It's been two days since we last ate. You're eating something.</em></p><p> </p><p>The person on the other end of the line begins speaking again and Don lets them, his attention now mostly focused on Travis anyway. He growls at the younger man, glaring at him in a way that looked more exhausted than openly hostile. <em>Fine. Whatever. You're getting it, then.</em></p><p> </p><p>Travis smiles, sliding off the bed and nearly missing the way the other man's eyes drag over his exposed hipbones before he fixes his hoodie. He's content with his small victory and decides not to think about it, attributing the pink in his cheeks to the rush of being able to communicate non-verbally with a man that hated his guts not too long ago.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The mess hall is almost empty by the time he reaches it, finding a C.O. instead. The man is in his early thirties, at least, tall and broad with cropped black hair. His sharp features remind Travis a little of Don and he finds the man's businesslike behavior easier to deal with that way.</p><p> </p><p>“Is there anything I can bring back for Don and myself?” He asks, fiddling with the cuffs of his borrowed hoodie. “I'd appreciate it?”</p><p> </p><p>He sees the man's mask crack for a brief moment and wonders if all grouchy men like this are so easy to read. Dealing with people like Don and X had taught him more about human emotion than his entire first twenty years on Earth and the lessons were startlingly easy to apply to other people as well.</p><p> </p><p>“I can unlock the pantry for you, Mr.Shepherd,” the man says, the name tag stitched onto his lapel read W. Kepler.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, call me Travis,” he says, following the officer at a respectful distance. Don's earlier words echo in his ears and he straightens his posture a little, trying to be more alert in case someone were to sneak up on him.</p><p> </p><p>“Travis, then,” Kepler says, seeming flustered by it. “Do you... mind if I ask you a question?” There seemed to be something on his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Go ahead,” his words are cautious as he steps into the large pantry and begins to look around, instinctively going for the snack foods like a starving man. He hears the other man chuckle quietly and reddens, feeling foolish.</p><p> </p><p>“The agents that your group made contact with...” Oh no, this question. He was dreading this. “Was one of them... Was one of them a tall guy, dark skin, talks like he's in a bad action movie?”</p><p> </p><p>“Y?” Travis said, turning to look at the older man with a raised eyebrow. “Well, that was what Yolanda called him... We never... we never got his real name.”</p><p>This seems to answer Kepler's question and he falls silent for so long that Travis begins to worry. He finishes grabbing whatever he thinks Don might like along with his own favorites, shoving them into his sweatpants pockets and the kangaroo pocket on the front of his hoodie. He makes one last stop, grabbing a few cans of soda, his arms full.</p><p> </p><p>“How did it happen?” Travis is uncomfortably aware of the fact that Kepler was now standing in between him and the door.</p><p> </p><p>“I,” Travis begins, voice cracking. “X and Y... They left the “sample” on the roof of their car. Drove off and it fared about as well as my coffee does when I do that...”</p><p> </p><p>When he finally gets the courage to look up, the officer is no longer blocking the door, instead he's standing in the doorway, motioning with one arm so Travis can step past him into the mess hall. Once the door is closed and locked again, the man seems to have composed himself.</p><p> </p><p>“We'll make sure you two get to Long Beach safe and sound. Our superiors have a lot to answer for,” Kepler's voice carried the bitter sting of a jilted lover, or someone that had been continually and repeatedly lied to.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Mister Kepler,” Travis finds himself saying, unable to put a hand on the tall officer's arm so he gestures with his elbow instead.</p><p> </p><p>Kepler doesn't say anything more, instead indicating the correct direction and only smiling a little bit at how much Travis resembled a little penguin making off with an armful of snacks. When he reaches the door he has to kick it gently a few times until he hears a pen being set down and the sound of a chair being moved backwards. When Don opens the door, he still has the phone to his ear, but is looking considerably more tired. His eyes travel down to the snacks Travis is holding and he actually snorts, something that looked suspiciously like a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. You have my contact information. Yes. Goodbye,” Don finally hangs up and puts the phone down, watching as Travis unloads all of the goodies from his person onto the bed. “Jesus Travis, did you raid their entire pantry or what?”</p><p> </p><p>“I only took half of it,” he finds himself joking back easily, handing out a bag of crisps which his friend (he could call Don that, right?) gladly takes. “I wasn't sure what you liked, so I grabbed a little bit of everything.” He thinks he sees a very strange look cross Don's face but he doesn't say anything, not knowing what to make of the momentary softness in the man's eyes. Geeze, they really were a beautiful shade of sea green, he hadn't gotten to appreciate that before...</p><p> </p><p>“...re you even listening? Travis?” Don's voice is a lot gentler than he probably meant it to be, Travis notes. The designer almost seems worried.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm sorry,” he says earnestly, shaking his head and leaning back against the wall. “I'm more tired than I thought I was...” His hand throbs where Mary had bitten him and he pulls up his hoodie sleeve to inspect it. There were bandages in the bag he'd been given along with some antiseptic, but he was just so tired.</p><p> </p><p>He must have been staring at his wound for longer than he thought because the next thing he knows there's a pair of much larger, paler hands taking his arm and holding it still so their owner could get a good look at the punctures.</p><p> </p><p>Don whistles, low and sounding impressed, “no worse than a wasp sting, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>The memory of Angela stabs painfully in his gut but he manages a smile, a real one even, at the fact that Don was at least trying. Those same incredibly gentle hands return with a bandage and disinfectant and Travis watches as the older man slowly and carefully bandages his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“I swear you'd forget how to put your trousers on if I wasn't around,” Don mumbles softly, chewing on his lower lip as he concentrated on clipping the bandages.</p><p> </p><p>“How many more calls do you have to make?” Travis asks, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them.</p><p> </p><p>Don drops his hand and puts the bandages and alcohol away in the bag, scooting back to return to his paperwork at the desk. He's silent for a few minutes as he switches over to the computer to type another long series of code before hitting enter and sitting back to grab the cell phone.</p><p> </p><p>“Only three more,” he says, voice sounding like a lover promising to come to bed soon.</p><p> </p><p>“You better hurry or I'm going to eat all the crisps,” Travis threatens, opening a bag and stuffing several into his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, do me a favor and don't choke on them. It's been at least a decade since my last first aid class and I didn't go through all the trouble of getting you back just to lose you to-” his words suddenly parse and his mouth snaps shut so hard and so quickly there's an audible clack of teeth. He goes back to what he's doing with a near stone faced determination.</p><p> </p><p>The brunette wants to say thank you, but he's nearly 100% certain of how THAT'S going to go and decides against it. He wants to tell Don he'd become a total softie and that he was happy that... out of everyone, at least they'd made it through together- but what he says is, “no promises.” And shoves another handful of crisps into his mouth.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It takes Don two more hours but when he finally finishes, he finds that what he'd taken for the ship's normal background hum had actually been Travis snoring softly. The young man is lying in the middle of various food wrappers, an opened bag of Doritos in one hand while the other is slapped over his eyes, forearm blocking out the light. He mumbles something and the designer is astonished at how the little idiot could manage to be so cute while lying in literal garbage AND snoring. He very nearly has the presence of mind to be disgusted with himself.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, he moves all the packages and empty wrappers to the table, covering the young man up and gazing down at him with gentle eyes as he curls into the blankets. Almost without his say-so, his hand reaches out and he brushes the boy's still damp hair from his forehead. When he realizes what he's doing he jerks his hand back, looking at it like he expects it to pull an Evil Dead on him. When it doesn't, he relaxes slightly and all but drags himself up the little ladder to the top bunk, falling into the sheets with an exhausted huff. The door was locked and they had plenty of time to get some rest.</p><p>He could close his eyes for just a moment.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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